On the Bright Side
by Avalon Estel
Summary: Hogwarts has a new DADA professor, and while he commands a fire demon, survived a particular Witch's attentions, and can do magic without a wand, he's having a hard time of things. It was Friday that was the problem. x-over with Howl's Moving Castle


**On the Bright Side**

_Rating: K+ (for safety, due to mildly dark humor)  
Fandom: Harry Potter/Howl's Moving Castle (bookverse)_

Dedicated to the lovely and wonderful Erestor - writer extraordinaire, fellow Howl enthusiast, and dear, dear friend

* * *

Professor Albus Dumbledore, as the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was responsible for interviewing prospective teachers when a position opened at the school. The most common position - and usually the only vacant one - was for Defense Against the Dark Arts. (Last year's teacher had gotten devoured by the giant squid. It had been a messy incident that had required lots of paperwork and hysterical parents, but it had been sorted out in the end, and the squid came through it scot-free.) Dumbledore had gotten used to the interviews over the years, and had even begun compiling a list of possible choices for the future. The handsome young man sitting before him was not among the best choices on the list, but was most assuredly better than the hag and vampire that Dumbledore had interviewed the day before.

"So…" Dumbledore said, peering at him from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, "how are you today?"

"Very well, actually," the young man said, grinning rakishly. "And you?"

"Fine as peach fuzz," Dumbledore said. "Now, down to business. You wish to become our school's new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"That is correct."

"And you are aware that for the last decade or so, we've been unable to keep a teacher in that position for more than a year?"

The young man's self-assured expression flickered to one of momentary worry. Dumbledore tried not to chuckle while he fought his anxiety down and regained control over his face.

"I didn't know that, but I'm certain that won't be a problem for someone like me," he said finally.

"I'm glad you're so confident."

"One should always be confident in oneself. Otherwise, one can never get anywhere."

"That's a very good outlook on things. Is it true that you don't need a wand to perform spells?"

"It is."

"And you do not use Dark Magic?"

"Of course not! Do you think I'm like that Witch?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Which witch? I'm afraid there are many in the vicinity."

The young man looked furious. "I have a particular witch in mind. It's a highly personal issue and I don't wish to talk about it."

"That's fine."

The man looked taken aback, as though he had expected Dumbledore to demand an explanation.

Dumbledore glanced over at the lantern sitting on the desk beside the man's hand. "And this fire…you say it's alive?"

The man blinked at the lantern and the pulsing fire within. "Yes, that's my fire demon. He's very important, and I would like permission to keep him in my fireplace."

"Him?"

"Yes. He wouldn't quit complaining about having to feed off of oil on the way here, but I promised him a nice fireplace and wood once we got here."

"That can be arranged."

"Thank you." Suddenly, the young man's expression shifted again and he looked alarmed. "Wait a minute! You mean I've got the job?"

"That's right," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"Well, that's wonderful!" The young man seized Dumbledore's hand and shook it vigorously. "I really appreciate it."

"I have one condition," Dumbledore said once the man had released him. "No romancing the female professors. Minerva will have your head."

"Minerva?"

"The Transfiguration professor and my deputy headmistress."

"I see." The man stood, grinned, and flicked a hand through his hair. "What makes you think I would do that?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind their lenses. "Nothing in particular."

The man picked up the lantern, and Dumbledore rose to show him out of the office.

"Filch will show you to your chambers," Dumbledore said as the man stepped through the door. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Jenkins."

* * *

The school year began a week later, and the Sorting Ceremony and welcome feast went off without a hitch. Professor Jenkins was met with much enthusiasm from the students, especially the female ones, and the other professors - aside from Professor Snape, of course - liked him well enough. Hagrid thought he was a sissy pretty boy, but didn't think he could harm anyone. McGonagall was still deciding what to make of him.

However, the young man's first class was a disaster.

The students were second years, and a few of them had been present during their former teacher's demise at the hands - or rather, tentacles - of the squid. (They had liked their former teacher very much, and so were prejudiced against Mr. Jenkins.) Being twelve and thirteen years old, the students were also at a rebellious stage of life, and they were not aware of Professor Jenkins' sensitive and self-absorbed personality.

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said as they trudged, trotted, pranced, and scuffled into their seats. When they were all settled, he flashed them one of his most dazzling smiles and said, "I am Professor Howl Jenkins, your new teacher. I am honored to be here, and hope you will all welcome me as warmly as I'm sure you welcomed your last teacher. I also hope I'm wiser than your last teacher - I certainly wouldn't want to meet his fate." He chuckled to himself. "I know for a fact, however, that I was most certainly more beautiful than he was."

The students bristled at this treasonous remark.

"How do you know?" demanded one particularly devoted girl.

Howl blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"How do you know you're more beautiful? And whoever told you that you're beautiful? You look like a pansy little fop to me!"

Howl's eyes had grown double their size. "Are you aware that I can give you detention very easily for that?"

The girl crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes mischievously. "Why don't you try, Professor Uglykins?"

The glare that Howl directed at her was poisonous enough that a dragon wouldn't have come near him, but she simply smirked at him and stared back.

Howl stood. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw and double detention for you."

Then he stuck his nose in the air and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The class exploded into cheering and shouts behind him.

* * *

Calcifer, Howl's fire demon, was burning happily in the fireplace of Howl's office and cackling in pure bliss.

"It wasn't _funny_, Calcifer," Howl complained from his armchair, where he was sprawling with his feet dangling off one end and his head dangling off the other.

"It was…h-h-_hysterical!_" Calcifer howled. "The way that McGonagall yelled at you, like you were some child…Oh, I thought I would _die_!" He became incoherent once more, and his flames blazed blue with mirth.

Howl huffed. "These people just don't appreciate true beauty when they see it. They don't know what they're dealing with. One day, I'll get back at them. I'll show them what powers I truly possess!"

_"What'll you do, flick your hair in their faces?"_

Howl decided not to dignify that remark with a response. He draped an arm over his eyes and sighed mournfully. Calcifer simply laughed harder than ever.

* * *

That happened on Monday.

Tuesday went well until Howl got a bucket of Filch's disgusting mop water poured on his head by Peeves.

Wednesday was considerably better, apart from the scolding he got when McGonagall caught him sweet-talking Professors Sprout and Sinistra.

Thursday was wonderful; Snape even made a vague compliment about the elegant shade of black in his robes.

It was Friday that was the problem.

He was teaching a class of fifth years how to evade long-term curses when Snape slammed the door to his classroom open.

"Professor Jenkins, your services are needed in the dungeons!" the Potions master exclaimed urgently.

Howl leapt from his chair and sprinted after Snape. The class followed down the corridor, and Howl was secretly pleased in knowing that his robes were billowing out behind him in a very heroic, impressive way. Snape led him down to the dungeons. In the corner of the Potions classroom, a chest rattled and shook of its own accord. Howl shrank back in the doorway.

"What, is it haunted?" he asked.

Snape gave him a derisive look. "One would think that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would know a boggart when he saw one."

Howl glared. "Well, I'm not exactly _looking_ at it, am I?"

"But surely looking at it wouldn't affect a great wizard like you."

"Of course not!" Howl pushed his sleeves up and poised his fingers to start casting spells. "Please, someone, open that trunk."

The students argued amongst themselves for a moment, but Howl was popular with the teenage girls, and in a moment he had a volunteer running toward the chest. She grabbed the lid and hauled it open. The boggart shot out, in the form of a giant beetle. The girl screamed and covered her face.

"I'll save you!" Howl cried. He moved in front of the girl, and as soon as the boggart swung to face him, there was a deafening _CRACK_.

Howl found himself staring down at an old, wizened, humpbacked version of himself.

"What?" he asked of no one in particular.

"It's a boggart, Professor Jenkins," Snape said lazily from the doorway.

"I'm aware of that!" snapped Howl. "So why did it become me? Except it's not me! At least not for another fifty years!"

"Boggarts appear to you as your greatest fear," Snape drawled. "No one has ever seen a boggart in its true form. Apparently, your greatest fear is growing old."

Howl was beginning to panic. The boggart was coming ever closer, and the idea of seeing himself so old, so decrepit, so absolutely _hideous_, was driving him near the edge, and it was all he could do to keep from running from the room, screaming. He began to hyperventilate, and the boggart was nearly touching his robes now…

"What do I do?" he screamed over his shoulder at Snape.

"Isn't this supposed to be your area of expertise?"

Everything went downhill from there.

* * *

"You're resigning?" Dumbledore asked, faint surprise in his tone.

Howl sighed. "Yes. I cannot remain in my position any longer. I'm sorry to leave you in a rut, but it's simply impossible."

Dumbledore ignored the way the fire demon was chuckling to itself in the lantern before him. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm quite used to it by now. But tell me, what exactly did you _do_?"

Howl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The fire demon laughed and flared up.

"He slimed the place," it said helpfully.

"Slimed it? Do tell."

"You see, when he gets particularly upset, he starts whining and summons dark spirits of misery and such, and he begins to ooze slime from every pore of his body." The demon cackled. "It's very amusing."

"How interesting." Dumbledore murmured. He looked up at Howl, who was aiming a death glare at the fire demon. "I'm sorry to lose you, Mr. Jenkins. You had much potential."

"I'm sorry, too, Professor Dumbledore." Howl stood and grabbed the lantern. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Look on the bright side, Mr. Jenkins," Dumbledore said, smiling benignly. "At least you didn't get eaten by the giant squid."


End file.
